


Symphonies

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-19
Updated: 2008-03-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 02:27:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12401199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: "Ah, music!  A magic beyond all we do here!"  A five movement symphony of Dumbledore's life and growth in music.





	Symphonies

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

 

_Symphonies:_

_A One Shot in Five Movements_

By Kat Sintonia

I. Allegro molto

Ink dripped onto parchment heedlessly, marring carefully crafted words, but the young man sitting at his desk had no attention for it. His latest ideas on magical theory were nothing—nothing at all!—to the rich, impossibly beautiful sound of a single cellist practising. He stared out the window down to the neighbour’s house, where he could just see the arcing of the bow— _no one could ever be as beautiful as this!—_ over the curve of the instrument. The sound was entrancing, completely consuming him in the simplistic beauty.

Gazing down, he remembered vaguely that his mother had mentioned a musician moving in, but musician seemed to him too coarse a word for what was being created there before him. The music filled the air, and he could do nothing but listen.

When his brother— _so coarse and unruly, really_ —stampeded around the house, breaking that strange spell the music held over him, he found himself setting aside his research and going to his mother to ask her about the musician next door.

She shrugged when he asked her. “How’m I supposed to know?” she half-demanded. “What with taking care of your sister, I can’t be expected to go meet every Muggle neighbour that shows up in the village. He’s always playing so I usually keep the windows shut so she won’t be bothered.” She turned back to the blonde girl who was playing happily with a pair of dolls on the floor. “You aren’t bothered this way, are you, m’dear?”

He sighed, wondering how anyone could see such beauty as a bother.

 

II. Adagio maestoso

He was in London, the dismal grey rain of the city matching the continual darkening of his spirits. _Love is a lie_ , he thought to himself, the weight of the years pressing down on him as he wandered through the Muggle parts of the city. He’d left work hours ago, the darkening streets mattering little to him as he mused. _How do I go on after all of this?_ he wondered not for the first time. _My family is long gone; my work has come to nothing; love has shown me only death and pain._

A carriage halted near him, and an elegantly dressed couple stepped out, walking past him without a glance into an imposing building. A few words of their conversation reached him. “It’s premiering tonight with the Symphony,” the man said smugly. “The first professional orchestra in Britain, and we’re seeing them play one of the greatest works ever written, my darling,” he continued.

He’d never forgotten his love of music, but it was cautiously that he followed the couple into the hall, purchasing a ticket quietly, and settling down in a plush seat to await the catharsis that music brought him. His hope was for a simple symphony that he could enjoy then forget, disappearing back into his tiny, dark little world.

The symphony was bold and dark, movement after movement flying past him without a care for the time, and as the chorus stood and sang to the heavens of new life, the words “rise again” echoing in his ears as he stood alongside perfect strangers, their joy united as they applauded a transcending experience. _Yes,_ he thought to himself, the final chorale still playing triumphantly in his thoughts. _I was not born for nothing, and have not for nothing lived and suffered._ _Through Death I can find Life again; I have to live again for them..._

 

III. Adagio assai

He settled himself into his study back at the castle, trying to reassure himself that his instincts had been wrong about the boy. _He’s only eleven_ , he told himself. _He’s never had a proper family; Hogwarts can give him that. No one is tainted from that age_. A memory of a golden haired boy danced through his mind and he shook it off, trying not to think about the terrible rumours he’d heard. _He can’t be. The boy_...he didn’t even know whether he was thinking of the tiny eleven year old or of _him_.

He stood restlessly, his fears for both the boy and the future of the Wizarding world pressing down on him far too heavily. The dark days were getting to him, even as he found joy in teaching. He flicked his wand at the gramophone sitting in the corner, hoping to gain some fresh serenity from music. The first piece was a joyous violin concerto, light and frolicsome.

With a glare, he half-tore the record from the player, replacing it at random with another. _There has to be something for this!_ he thought desperately. _I have to find the right music._ Record after record failed to satisfy that night, his usual favourites sounding hollow to his ears.

Only the melancholy of a requiem mass reached his ears that night, the darkness of Hell and Death pervading his thoughts. There would be no triumphant music in that study for years.

 

IV. Adagio lamentoso

Sitting in the castle late that night, away from the celebrations and the crowds, he stared at his hands, wondering how he’d done such a thing. _My friend..._ he thought, almost mournfully. _What have we become? You knew me far too well; of course I took it. I could almost hear you laugh as they dragged you away, finally wandless._

A fellow music lover had given him a record of a heroic symphony, and bitterly, he walked to the gramophone, setting the record on the machine with a wry smile, the triumphant music never seeming so ironic. _How fitting,_ he thought as he rolled the wand— _the_ Wand—in his tired hands. _Dedicated to a tyrant, I destroyed one tonight myself, but I hold what made him so. I am no hero._

 

V. Moderato tranquilo

He sat in the time-honoured office of headmaster for what he knew to be the last time, his eyes shut peacefully as the sounds of a solo cello washed over him, bringing catharsis out of the frenzied days of late. He smoothed the old paper that held his treasured record of the piece, loving it as much as he had at fifteen in this simple moment. No foresight was his, but simple confidence in the music and in his plans. _This will work. It’s no simple task, but it is as beautifully constructed as the music. We will do what needs be done; I will reach my final cadence and show him the way to his._

 

**_AN: This was inspired by the quote “Ah, music! A magic beyond all we do here.”  The pieces mentioned are (in order): Bach Unaccompanied Suite No. 1 for Cello, Mahler Symphony No. 2 "Ressurection", 'Lacrimosa' from Mozart's Requiem, Beethoven Symphony No. 3 "Eroica", and the Bach Unaccompanied once again.  
_ **


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